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Poetry of Amy Lowell
A Dome of Many-coloured Glass

The Matrix

Goaded and harassed in the factory
 That tears our life up into bits of days
 Ticked off upon a clock which never stays,
Shredding our portion of Eternity,
We break away at last, and steal the key
 Which hides a world empty of hours; ways
 Of space unroll, and Heaven overlays
The leafy, sun-lit earth of Fantasy.
 Beyond the ilex shadow glares the sun,
 Scorching against the blue flame of the sky.
Brown lily-pads lie heavy and supine
 Within a granite basin, under one
 The bronze-gold glimmer of a carp; and I
Reach out my hand and pluck a nectarine.